Different Lifestyles
by Kirsty
Summary: This story's about Brian, Curt, and several other characters in a very different universe. It doesn't fit in anywhere in or after the movie. Still, if you're a fan, this is something, well, ..different :)


Haupttext

**Different Lifestyles**

_Author's note: This fanfiction appeared in my sick little mind after watching Velvet Goldmine, and then reading some fanfiction about it. Especially the scene where Brian first meets Curt in that club inspired me, along with the phrase „Brian never cared much for the suburbs." _

_Well, this doesn't fit in anywhere in the movie, it's an alternate universe, and I only use the characters because I can't think of anyone who'd fit into a story like this more perfectly than Brian Slade and Curt Wild. It doesn't have much to do with the real movie, just a little.*smile* You'll see. This story is also set in the present because I could never bare writing a story set in the 70s. I get too depressive over that. Forgive me *wink*_

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_Character information: Brian and Mandy Slade, Curt Wilde and Jack Fairy are -most obviously- Velvet Goldmine. Yes I know Brian's like Thomas Jerome Newton from „The Man Who Fell To Earth" in the beginning, but it just kinda happened. So what, I like Tommy *grins* Besides that, Brian's real name IS Brian Slade in this fic. Mandy is short for Amanda. And she's dyed her hair pink._

_The character Magda is based on Magda from the play „Tanz der Vampire" and her appearance on Magenta from „The Rocky Horror Picture Show"._

_Herbert is based on Herbert from „Tanz der Vampire" and Herbert from the movie „Richie Rich". _

_I will add additional character info as soon as I bring them into the story._

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_Disclaimer: Well, I haven't got the nerve to do research on every single film, play, book or whatever these characters belong to, so I'll just say they're all not mine, I'm only a ** year old student who makes up weird stories in her head and never finishes them. Please don't sue me. Thankyou._

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_Rating: I don't like ratings much, cuz I don't think every person of a certain age is the same. I'd rate this G for now, but I'm planning on getting it up to X, so this'll change in the progress of writing. As long as you're mature enough to handle things, feel free to read anything you like (giving general advice here!)_

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_Dedication: Dedicated to Fanta, Velvet Goldmine (Song AND movie. If you don't know the song, move on to Napster and get it. Go. Now.) and nail varnish. Also, I'm writing this only to drive my best friend Vicky crazy, so here's a message for her:_

__**MAXWELL DEMON**

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__That's it for now. Enjoy. 

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__Cool, damp fog rose from the ground and up into the trees. No birds had yet awoken, no animal in the forest at all besides a young, curious fox, away from its den where its brothers and sisters where sleeping safe and warmly. It stepped towards the clearing in the middle of the forest, miles away from the next human town or city. Curiously, the young fox sniffed the cool air, then stepped out further into the open. As soon as it spotted the mansion, it turned on the spot and ran back to the den as quickly as its young legs would carry it, and the forest was left quiet once again. 

The fog now rose up to encircle the house. Made of white stone, its black windows and roof gave the mansion a ghostly look. No light was yet burning, no car driving down the long driveway towards the giant black gate connected to the high fence that encircled the mansion and its yard. Everyone was still asleep, the new day had not yet begun. Only hours later, when the fog had cleared and a weak sun was slowly rising, the front door of the mansion opened. 

A young woman with short, pinkish-blonde hair, wrapped up in an expensive fur coat, made her way over to the garage, flicking a cigarette away. She stopped for a moment to type in the code -2189114- then, slowly, the garage gate opened. The woman entered and after a few minutes, a white sports car rolled out. The garage 'misteriously' closed behind her, and as soon as she reached the main gate, that led out of the property and onto the road, that opened as well, then closed as soon as she was through. 

The residence went quiet again. It took several hours, until morning finally started to break. As soon as the fog started to clear, a back door opened. Out stepped a maid, carrying a bag of rubbish. She walked over to the bins, threw the bag away and returned into the house. 

Arthur shuddered. „Close the door, will you. At least until I turned on the fire." „Yeah sure." said the maid, Magda, and closed the door, then went to wash her hands in the sink. She and Arthur, a young boy who'd only recently begun to work here, were in a large kitchen. It had plain white walls, marble floor and every modern equipment a kitchen needed. Also it had a large open fireplace, which Arthur was now carefully lighting. 

Magda smirked as she watched him. She found him quite attractive, although she'd never tell him that. Hell, she was thirty-six years old, and he? In his early twenties! 

„Has Herbert already gone up?" she asked, shaking her head to bring herself off her musing about Arthur. He threw the match into the quickly growing fire, then stood up to look at her. „Yeah, he's doing the breakfast. As he always does." 

„Alright." said Magda, pulled out a rubber band and fixed her curly red hair into a ponytail. „Let's start working then." 

As downstairs life was beginning, the true owner of the house was still lying in bed. The thick blanket of the four poster bed was loosely lying on his waist as he leaned back into a mountain of cushions and sighed deeply. He let his eyes scan the huge room. Everything was very old fashioned, and very expensive. Hug oak doors with a golden handle led into his room, a smaller one to his private bathroom. French windows seperated room and balcony at the far end of the room, opposite to the bed. In between was everything that money could buy: electronics, decorations, in a large wooden chest even toys. And he knew that another door in his room led to a gigantic closet, full of every sort of costume you could imagine. 

Of course, everything in the room was 'designed to match the wallpaper' as he used to say. Specifically designed for him. 

His eyes moved over to the smaller window next to his bed. The velvet curtains were drawn, but he knew it overlooked a gigantic garden, a huge meadow, then, in the far distance, the stables. He even had horses. And he had no idea how to ride. 

He looked back into his lap at the book he was reading. 'Lord of the Rings'. He held it with only one, his right hand, for the other one he rather liked to keep still. It was the one connected to the drip on the left side of the bed. On the left bedside table also sat a glass of water and a small, silver case, containing pills. The table's compartments were also filled with all kinds of medication you could think of. 

He looked up as the oak door opened. „Ah." he smiled a weak smile, which was normal for him. „G'morning Herbert." 

Herbert was a tall, slender man in his late fourties. He had long black hair with a few grey streaks, that mostly hung freely around his shoulders. His eyes were an odd combination off grey and green, and hardly ever showed any emotion at all. He was always wearing a dark suit that reminded vaguely of the late 18th century. Herbert had been the family's personal butler, friend and advisor since his father had died, who'd done just the same job for decades. It came just natural that Herbert would take his place. 

Gently, he set down the breakfast plate on the right bedside table, which always stood free for this. 

„Good morning Master Slade. How are you feeling today?" Herbert's voice was heavily accented, very old-fashioned, typical british. 

Brian gave him a lazy smirk. „Just the same as always. You don't really need to ask every morning." 

The butler remained silent and smiled kindly, then went to pull apart the curtains, letting the by now bright sunlight in. Brian sighed, leaned back again and set the book aside. Then he reached for the water and pills. There were some he had to take before eating, some afterwards, and he didn't remember one name. He'd been taking that stuff the doctors pumped into him all his life, he didn't even know what it felt like _not_ to be on some sort of medication. They kept telling him he wouldn't survive without them, but he knew better than to trust the doctors. 

„How is my wife today?" Brian asked, swallowing the first set of pills. Herbert moved on across the room to the curtains that belonged to the french windows. 

„Miss Amanda went out very early today, to the city, I believe. She will be back in the late afternoon." „Ah." answered Brian quietly, then swallowed more pills. 

Herbert checked the drip and Brian eyed him suspiciously. He never liked the idea of his 'water bottle' beeing checked like a rabbit's. Although he did feel like a rabbit in a cage. 

„Do you need anything else?" asked Herbert politely. Brian scanned the room. „Pass me the remote control please.." he said quietly. 

The butler moved over to a small window sill-like part of the wall, took the remote that lay there, then handed it to Brian. „Anything else?" 

„No..." Brian delicately pressed a button and the screen was lowered from somewhere in the upper part of the wall, immediately switched on very quietly. „Please have dinner ready when Mandy comes back. For the both of us." 

Brian gave Herbert an intense look, ordering and pleading at once. He knew he shouldn't get out of bed and he knew that, should Herbert tell him to stay in bed, he wouldn't have the strength to argue. But the both of them knew that it wouldn't make a difference anyway. The butler understood the look in Brian's eyes and nodded. 

„Of course, sir." he bowed, very slightly, then left, closing the doors behind him. Brian was left alone. 

He sighed and started thinking about his past life as the BBC reporter babbled something about the new president of the USA. 

For as long as he could remember, Brian Slade had been sick. Ill, suffering from every kind of illness you could ever imagine. Every year, the doctors had told him he wouldn't survive until his next birthday. But Brian had always known better. He'd grown up with the thought that he would die someday - but wouldn't everybody? 

His family, who'd been extremely wealthy for generations, had given him everything a child's heart could desire. All sorts of playthings, videos, books, his own swimming pool and rollercoaster, a whole stable full of horses, dogs, birds. He'd heard that even a large part of the South American rainforest belonged to him. He could have been the happiest child alive if only it had been of any use to him. Yes, he'd gotten a vague idea of what it's like to play with a dog. Yes, he'd seen the gigantic birdcage with all kinds of beautiful exotic birds and butterflies in it. He'd also seen his horses, knew all of their names, but had never ridden one. Brian was hardly ever allowed to get out of his wheelchair when he wasn't in bed, and he was always accompanied by at least one doctor and either Herbert or Mandy. 

He'd had friends in the past. Children that had visited him, played with his toys, ridden his horses, walked with his dogs, while all he could do was watch and smile, trying not to spoil their fun. 

Now, at the age of nineteen, Brian hardly had any friends. His wife, Mandy did, and she sometimes brought them home. They would get in, and smile, and be very friendly to Brian, Mandy's poor young husband, lying there in bed. 

He knew that Mandy slept with others, and he didn't blame her. He sometimes wondered why she even stayed with him. She told him that she loved him, of course, but Brian never found a reason why someone would love him, if not because of his family's fortune. Skinny and pale as he was, Mandy kept telling him he was beautiful, but when he looked in the mirror, he could hardly believe that. 

Full with drugs (.._medication)_ and permanently exhausted from them, he'd sometimes, mostly at night, get up from his bed and make his way over to the bathroom. He'd have to hold on to the walls to do so, and was always heavily panting when he arrived there. 

He'd sit down in front of the huge vanity mirror, and start putting on makeup that he'd ordered. He could get anything he wanted. 

Brian had found that, although his hands were very shaky, he was very skilled at applying makeup. He'd sit in front of his mirror for hours, staring at his own reflection. And sometimes he would admit to himself that he could be beautiful, with the glitter on his eyelids and cheeks, and lipstick on his full lips. But only at those nights, when his mind was dazed from the medication. 

Brian sighed again. He felt so locked up in his own body. How he wished that something would change his life forever... well, it wouldn't. He just had to live with it. 

Satisfied with that conclusion, he turned his attention back to the TV. The BBC reporter was still talking, now about a new topic. And as he listened, Brian found out that this was one that interested him far more than the American president or the filming of the Teletubbies. 

Rock star Curt Wilde. 

To be continued....... 


End file.
